


The Opera Rat Really Did Exist

by Mertens



Series: Rat AU [1]
Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Gen, I have 6 legitimate stories I should be working on but instead I wrote this, Mouse AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:09:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22263889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mertens/pseuds/Mertens
Summary: Christine Daaé is a tiny mouse with big dreams, and with her angel guiding her, she thinks she’s close to realizing those dreams. But the world is big and can be scary, and not everything is what it seems.
Relationships: Christine Daaé & Erik | Phantom of the Opera, Christine Daaé/Erik | Phantom of the Opera, Raoul de Chagny & Christine Daaé
Series: Rat AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1626601
Comments: 28
Kudos: 45





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Christine is a literal mouse, but like a pet mouse, not a wild one

Christine Daaé scurried down the hallway of the opera house. She paused a moment to glance at the girls coming out of the large, mirrored ballet room. Ballet rats, she’d heard them called, but that always seemed rather rude, to her. 

She loved watching the dancers, though, with all their tulle and lace and satin and ribbons. She had even borrowed a discarded pointe shoe for her bed in the back of a closet in the dormitory, the wool padding making an excellent pillow. 

The ballerinas giggled and hurried off to their dressing rooms, and Christine likewise hurried on towards her own destination. It would never do to be late to her lesson. 

She squeezed under the crack of the door into an unused and seemingly (by the looks of all the cobwebs and dust) forgotten dressing room that was far off from all the others. She took a moment to catch her breath and steady her heart before she called out to her angel. 

“I’m ready for my lesson,” she said politely. 

“Of course you are, my dear,” her angel’s smooth voice curled around her, making her heart leap. 

It had been three weeks that she had been living at the Populaire, three weeks that she had been taking voice lessons with the angel. And what a glorious three weeks it had been! She had known from the moment she had heard that mysterious voice coming from nowhere and everywhere at once that she had to find the source of it - she had leapt out of her master’s coat pocket and hurried to catch the strange singer, only for the voice to suddenly stop. She had cried out for him to please continue - she had never heard such a lovely voice! Surely it was the voice of an angel? 

The voice had said that, yes, he was an angel, and, to her surprise, he had asked if he might teach her to sing. Of course she had agreed! 

“I have a gift for you, Christine,” her angel sounded slightly nervous. 

“You do?” her little eyes lit up. 

“It’s right behind you.”

She turned to look, and saw a golden thread close behind her. How it shined! It was the same kind of thread that lined so many of the costumes on stage. 

“For me?” she asked solemnly. 

“For you,” he agreed. “But Christine, you must understand - if you accept this, you must wear it forevermore. It will be a symbol of your dedication to m- ah, to _music_ , my dear. So long as you wear it, you will be faithful to music and music alone. Do you understand?”

She nodded as she picked up the thread with her little hands, tying it around the end of her tail as best she could. 

“I will always wear this, angel!”

“So long as you do, I will watch over you, and nothing shall ever harm you,” he said tenderly. 

“Thank you, angel,” she smiled up at the ceiling. 

“Now,” he said suddenly. “We must prepare for your big debut!”

She hesitated. 

“Are you very certain?”

“Quite! Why, all of Paris will fall in love with you!”

Christine fidgeted a little. Her maestro was so certain that she could sing on stage... on the _human_ stage, right up there with all the people. Christine wasn’t so certain. But surely her angel knew best...? 

“Tomorrow, Christine,” he went on. “Tomorrow is when everything will change. You’re going to be amazing - the finest singer the opera house has ever heard!”

She ducked her head. She _did_ like when he said things like that. Singing had just been a hobby to her since her childhood, but something she had left off of doing ever since her papa had died. It had been a mere accident that she had started to sing along with the performer up on stage that fateful night, something she hadn’t done in ages. But then the angel had joined in, and they sung a duet for a moment before she realized her life would never be the same again. 

And now her life was going to change again! She would be famous! In all of Paris! Her angel had said so, after all, and he would never lie to her. 

She cleared her throat and stood up on her hind legs and began to sing just like the angel had taught her, starting with some warm ups and working her way up to the song she’d be singing at her grand debut the following night. 

She spent the next hour practicing, listening intently to her teacher’s corrections (which were few) and to his warm praises (which were many), before finally he dismissed her, saying that she needed a good night’s sleep to be ready for the next day. She thanked him profusely, promising to him that she would not let him down. 

“My dear,” he said kindly. “You could never let me down. I will see you tomorrow, Christine.”

She curled up in her bed that night, visions of finally achieving her dream floating through her head. Her papa had always thought she could be famous for her singing, but she had let those hopes fade away after he was gone. She really hadn’t felt like singing very much at all for a long time. But now - now she had her angel, and there was nothing she’d rather do than sing. And now all of Paris was going to hear her!


	2. Chapter 2

Christine awoke early that morning, roused by the sounds of Meg preparing for the day. She crawled out of her shoe in the closet and peeked around the corner to look at Meg, who sat at her vanity and brushed her hair. Christine liked Meg the best of all the ballet rats, partly because her long blonde hair reminded Christine of her own fur, which had gold patches mixed into the soft white. 

Meg finished trying her hair in a bun and sprinted from the room, calling out to a friend just down the hallway. 

Christine sniffed cautiously before coming out and crawling up the leg of the vanity table, sure enough finding that Meg had left a half-eaten pastry next to her brush. She happily munched on the pastry, noting that this one had jam in the middle - something her angel had told her to avoid, lest it compromise her voice. She dutifully avoided it, looking at the gold thread on her tail as she did. 

After her breakfast she made her way down to the ballet room, watching the girls warm up and stretch. She stood in the corner and did her own stretches that her angel had recommended to help her voice. How wonderful it was to be part of the company! Wasn’t it lovely to be able to prepare for the big show with friends? With the help of the wall she stood up as tall as she could, leaned side to side, and rolled her head to loosen any stiffness in her neck. She stretched out her little paws, shaking any tension out of them, and wiggled her tail, taking deep breaths as she did so. 

Her warmups done, she went to her dressing room and waited for her angel. He didn’t make her wait long. 

“My Christine,” his voice was filled with pride. “It is finally time. All of your hard work is about to pay off, my dear.”

“If you say so, angel,” she was nearly trembling with excitement but also worry. 

“Everything will go smoothly, you need not worry.”

She nodded, her fear beginning to melt away. The angel always knew how to soothe her. 

“You will do just as we planned,” he continued. “After the intermission, _you_ will take the place of La Carlotta.”

Christine nodded again, eyes bright. This was it. 

“You are most certainly ready, my dear. Do you feel ready? You know what to do, know your songs?”

“Yes, angel. I’m ready to sing!”

“Excellent, Christine! This is going to be one for the history books!”

Christine lingered backstage as she waited for the first act to end. The music was so loud out there! It rumbled and hummed and soared, and it very nearly frightened her. She could feel it vibrate through her entire body, and it made her feel small. 

But she wasn’t small! She jutted her little chin out. She was Christine Daaé! She was going to make her debut and everyone would love her, just as the angel had said! 

She busied herself with studying the costumes that hung backstage for the quick changes, finding an occasional button or bead that had dropped off of them, carefully stashing each one away to later take to her room and save. 

Soon enough it was intermission. She began to feel nervous, but then she heard that voice once more. 

“ _Christine_...”

She closed her eyes, grateful. The angel was with her, even now. He would be there to witness her triumphant debut!

She listened for her cue, waiting just behind the curtain. She was eager to hurry and go out, but the curtain was too heavy to wiggle under, so she had to wait until it was raised. Once it was, she ran to the very edge, right up to where the audience was the closest, standing on her mark before Carlotta could even walk onstage. 

The familiar music began and she stood tall on her back legs, demurely clasping her tiny hands together as she began to sing. 

Erik watched from the top of the curtain, eyes glowing in the darkness. His Christine! His marvelous little Christine! How like an angel she was, how heavenly her voice! Was she not made for the spotlight? Was she not the best singer to ever grace the stage of Paris? He could swoon away in delight at it! 

He wanted to glance out at the audience and see how she was being received, but he simply couldn’t take his eyes off of her. He nearly shed a tear behind his mask at the sheer beauty of it. 

Suddenly he noticed movement at the corner of his vision, and he turned to see what it was. 

Carlotta was there, hissing at a stage hand. 

“Watch what you’re doing with those ropes - you made me miss my cue!”

Carlotta pushed past the stage hand, bursting onto the stage, lifting her voice to jump in to her song just a few stanzas too late. 

Christine’s little brow furrowed. Carlotta was singing with her now. That was okay, she thought. Her angel had said that Carlotta might be on stage for a moment or so before she realized how inferior she was to Christine and left in shame. Christine forged on, just like her angel had said to do no matter what. 

Every muscle of Erik’s body was tense. His claws gripped the rope tightly and threatened to cut through his gloves. What was that woman doing, how dare she be on stage as though she deserved to share it with such talent? Her squawking was drowning out the beautiful voice of his dear little love! 

Carlotta was flustered at having missed her cue, and she had to hurry to get where she needed to be on the stage. She didn’t even notice Christine at all - didn’t see the tiny mouse that was standing where she was supposed to be standing, didn’t hear the squeaks she was making as she stood there. 

Carlotta’s foot came down heavy, and Erik nearly passed out. 

Christine screamed, but Carlotta didn’t hear that high pitched squeak, either. 

The sharp heel of Carlotta’s shoe had come within an inch of crushing Christine, but Christine had jumped out of the way. She looked up at the tall woman, then out at the audience, then burst into tears and ran backstage. Carlotta sang on. 

Erik was livid. The nerve! The absolute nerve! Why, she had done it on purpose! Trying to take out the competition, eh? Realized she could never compare to Christine and thought she had to be gotten rid of, did she?

He fumed about it, nearly considering chewing through the ropes that held the curtain up and letting it fall where it may, but he realized that if he did the next shows would have to be canceled until it could be fixed, and that meant Christine would have to wait before she had another chance to sing on stage again. 

With a swish of his little cape, he turned and stalked away to Carlotta’s dressing room, mind working overtime as he did. 

He had assumed, of course, that once Carlotta heard Christine singing, she would be embarrassed and stay off of the stage. He had never imagined that the awful woman would just plow right out there and try to kill his beloved in a fit of jealousy! Oh, he could weep at the very thought of it! His heart ached for poor Christine. 

He must comfort her, of course - she had left in tears, even though she had been doing well! But first - _revenge_. 

He pushed at Carlotta’s dressing room door with his little hands until the heavy door creaked open. 

Once inside, he marched up to the wall with the hook that held her dressing gown, pushing his mask up so he could bite the lace hem, tugging viciously until the entire thing fell to the ground in a heap. Triumphant, he turned to kick her slippers over. 

Still seething, he climbed up to her vanity table. 

“How _dare_ you treat Christine so shamefully!” he shouted as he pushed a perfume bottle to the floor with a clatter. 

He grabbed her makeup brush and began pulling the bristles out and tossing them away. 

“You will rue the day you crossed The Phantom! Mark my words!”

He turned over her makeup and a cloud of powder went up, making him sneeze and only enraging him further. He stood on his hind legs and squealed angrily. He continued to tip over anything and everything on her vanity, breaking her necklaces, gnawing on the carved handle of her hairbrush, pulling and tangling the hair of her wigs, scratching the jewels and pearls off of her coat. 

Erik had never considered himself particularly lucky - he was, in fact, rather cursed in his own personal opinion - but he was lucky that no one was outside of her dressing room at that time, lest they hear a long series of loud squeaks and hisses and terrible little wails. 

Finally his rage abated, and he went in search of Christine. 

Christine! How could he have forgotten her? 

Christine was searching for her angel. She needed him! She paused in the middle of running down the hall to wipe a tear from her eye. Everything had been going so well! She loved the spotlight on her, even if it was blindingly bright and made her feel much too warm. She loved knowing that all the people were looking at her, listening to her voice! All she wanted to was to continue singing. But then Carlotta had come and stomped her awful feet and Christine had never been so frightened in her life! She had thought for certain it was about to be all over. Even now her little heart was racing! She needed to talk to her angel about all this - he would know just what to say to make her feel better, she was certain of that. 

But her angel wasn’t in her dressing room. He wasn’t in the hallway where she heard him sometimes, either. Where was he? She needed him! She sniffled. Surely- surely he hadn’t abandoned her, had he? She ran down another hall, calling out for him, imploring him to speak to her. 

“Christine!”

She froze in fear. That wasn’t her angel- that was- 

Raoul stooped down, smiling. 

“Christine, I found you!”

He was beyond pleased that he had noticed her as she was going down the hallway, squeaking as she ran. Was squeaking for him? 

She turned and looked up at him, standing up. She missed Raoul, she did. She had known him since her childhood, after all. 

He reached a hand down and held it out to her, and she nudged him with her nose. She knew he wanted her to go back with him, but she didn’t want that right now. She had to talk to her angel! And there was her career to think of, too. She tried to explain it to him, that she loved him but things had changed now and she couldn’t leave with him, not right now anyway. 

“What are you doing down here, you silly thing?”

He wrapped his hand around her, picking her up. Was she okay? She normally didn’t squeak so much. Maybe she missed him! He cupped his hands around her, bringing her close to his face to make certain she was alright. 

He frowned a little. 

“Christine, what’s this?” he pulled at the thread on her tail, untangling it. 

“ _Raoul, no!_ ”

He callously threw her gold string on the floor before rubbing the top of her head gently. 

“You’re all tangled up in trash, poor little dear,” he murmured. “Don’t worry, I’ll take you home.”

She jerked her head away. She didn’t want to be petted right now! How dare he barge in on her life and think he knew what was best for her! How dare he steal the gift the angel had given her! 

Startled by her little fit, he closed his hands around her lest she fall out of his hands and get injured. 

Feeling his grip tighten, she began to squirm violently, trying to escape. Raoul had always been gentle with her, and tonight was no exception, so Christine had never before had a reason to bite him, but tonight she tried something that she had never attempted before - she reared her head back and tried to bite him. 

He frowned a little harder. 

“You’re so fierce tonight, Christine. Are you frightened?”

Frightened? Of course she was! She was terribly frightened that her angel would see that she no longer wore the thread he had given her and think that she had scorned him. And Raoul was going to take her away, too! She wanted to stay here and sing and take lessons with the angel! 

“Raoul, let me go! Let go of me!” 

Raoul put her into his coat pocket. 

“You’re safe now, dear, it’s okay.”

“Raoul please! I want to stay here! I want to sing!” she pleaded, trying to claw her way out of the pocket. 

Raoul set off down the hallway, beaming with joy that he had found his beloved little Christine once more after he had thought he’d lost her forever. Wait till he told Philippe! 

Christine claimed to the top of his pocket, sticking her head out. She looked back at the thread on the floor with despair, traveling further and further away from it. She looked up at Raoul, who she loved, but who just didn’t understand her right now. She looked down at the floor, which seemed so awfully far away - but it was her only chance. 

She gulped back her terror and her better judgement and, teetering on the edge of his pocket, leapt to the floor.


	3. Chapter 3

Erik was about to call out to Christine when suddenly someone else did. He stared, stupefied, as this person, this _boy_ approached her. The nerve of him! 

He waited impatiently behind a wall tapestry, silently cursing this oaf who was interrupting them, but his heart softened as he heard Christine explaining that she had been visited by the angel of music and had to stay because of him. 

But then something terrible happened - the boy pulled away her gold thread! He tossed it to the ground like it was nothing, like Erik was nothing, like the bond Erik had with her was nothing! And then - then he stuffed her into his pocket, cruelly ignoring her pitiful pleas. 

Erik darted out from his hiding place, panicking. He had to stop this boy from stealing Christine away, but how? 

It was then that he noticed Christine tottering at the edge of the pocket. He froze, hiding himself behind a pedestal that held a vase, holding his breath. It was too far of a jump for her! She would get hurt! 

She landed on the ground, a flash of pain going through her hand. She was about to squeak in pain when suddenly the terrible excitement of the past several hours became too overwhelming, and she fainted clean away. 

Erik staggered out to crouch down by her side. His poor love! Had she died? He put his hands on his mask and wailed. 

But no! She was still breathing! She was alive after all! He had never felt such relief. But to do now? He couldn’t just leave her here - she might be hurt, for one, and need medical attention. Anyone was liable to come along and just step on her if she stayed here. And besides - there was the rat catcher to consider. If he came across Christine... 

Erik couldn’t let that happen. He bent down and scooped her sleeping form into his arms, carefully standing on his hind legs as he carried her away to a dark corner that led to his domain. 

Meanwhile, Raoul was looking for his brother in the crowd of people leaving the theater. 

“Raoul!” his brother spotted him first. “There you are! Where’d you go?”

“Guess who I saw!” Raoul beamed. 

“Who?” Philippe smiled wryly, thinking of a number of young ladies who worked at the opera house. 

“Christine!”

Philippe’s face fell, then he pretended it hadn’t. 

“Oh?”

He’d thought Raoul’s preoccupation with his mouse was finally over when the creature had gone missing (what did Raoul expect, toting it around like that everywhere he went?). 

“Look, she was just fine! She was wandering the halls - I bet she was looking for me!” his hand dove into his pocket, groping to find her, only for his grin to fade as he realized his pocket was in fact empty. 

“Oh-oh...” he stuttered, his expression growing concerned. “She’s gone- Philippe, she’s gone again!”

Philippe sighed and placed an arm around Raoul’s shoulders. 

“Don’t worry, little brother. The world is full of mice - we’ll go down to the pet store and buy you another one. We’ll buy you as many mice as you want.” 

Raoul rubbed at his watering eyes. 

“But there’s only one Christine...” he looked back longingly at the hallway he had just come from. 

The brothers went home, Philippe chatting eagerly about the show they had just seen, and Raoul nodding and agreeing occasionally, his mind still leaning towards Christine, hoping that wherever she was, she was okay. 

Christine slowly blinked awake. The first thing she became aware of was a dark figure standing just a little away from her, and she began to panic. 

“Do not be frightened, Christine,” her angel’s voice said. “There is nothing to fear. You are safe now.”

His voice soothed her, but she was still unnerved. She took a closer look at the figure. 

At first Christine couldn’t tell what, exactly, she was looking at - the figure was nearly three times her size, and at first she thought perhaps it was a doll of a human. But the shape was all wrong, all hunched over, and the porcelain head sat at a strange angle, the arms too short and bending oddly in their little sleeves. It was the long, thick tail trailing from behind it that gave away what she was looking at. 

It was a rat. 

But- but where was her angel? She looked around for him. 

The rat leaned in a little closer, tilting that awful head just a little more to the side. 

“Do you feel all right?” he asked solicitously. 

Her eyes snapped back to the figure. 

“Oh,” she took in a tremulous breath. “It’s _you_.”

And she began to cry. She put her paws to her face, tears running from her tightly closed eyes. 

The angel was no angel after all - he was merely a rat.

“I am sorry, Christine,” he cried, despairing. “I am sorry I am not an angel... I am only Erik.”

She sniffled and wiped away her tears. She couldn’t believe how foolish she had been! All that time, taking lessons from a rat and not an angel! She had always been a good girl and avoided rats whenever she could, knowing that they could be dangerous. But now - she had abandoned her dear, precious Raoul and she was here all alone with a rat, no one else knowing where she was or how to find her again - _she_ didn’t even know where she was. 

“Am I to be your prisoner, then?” she tried to muster as much fierceness as she could while still crying. 

“My prisoner? Oh, Christine, no!” Erik wrung his hands in their little white gloves. “You are Erik’s _guest_ , my dear!”

“I don’t _want_ to be Erik’s guest! I want to go home! I want to go home to Raoul!” she demanded, trying to hide the tremble in her voice. 

Erik grew agitated. 

“Erik will take Christine back, he promises,” he said in a pleading tone. “But not just yet - not yet.”

“Right now! _Right now!_ I shall hate you forever if you don’t!”

He hung his doll’s head in shame. 

“May I play a song for you first?” he asked softly. 

“Get on with it then, so you can take me back!”

It was then that Christine took in her surroundings. They were on a large table with a dollhouse on it, and next to the table was an upright piano. He leapt deftly over to the piano and, by stepping quickly and nimbly on and across the keys, began to play the most beautiful song. 

The tension began to leave her little frame. She noticed, now, a soft bandage had been wrapped around her paw, the one that had gotten hurt when she had jumped. Had Erik tended to it? It felt better already. She watched him, enraptured, as he played. 

By the time he had finished his song (one of his very own compositions), she had forgotten all about her demand to be immediately taken back to Raoul. 

“Are you hungry, my dear? Would you like something to eat?” he asked as he jumped back to the tabletop. 

She nodded as though in a daze, and he led her into the dollhouse. She wondered, for a moment, why there was a dollhouse in the opera house, not knowing that it was used as a prop in a previous show many seasons ago, and had been stored away here ever since. 

“This is my home,” Erik explained. “And it would delight me if you thought of it as your home as well.”

She looked around at the fancy doll furniture. Raoul had an old dollhouse that had belonged to his sister, and he often let Christine explore it. Erik’s house wasn’t as fancy as Raoul’s, but it was still quite nice. 

“You even have a room of your own here,” he tittered nervously. 

“I do?” she asked, surprised. 

“Of course you do! It is right over here,” he ushered her to a room with tiny floral wallpaper. “You will find some dresses in the wardrobe, you shall get dressed and then we shall have dinner.”

She squirmed, a little nervous. 

“I don’t wear dresses,” she said hesitantly. “I’m a mouse.”

“These will fit you, my dear, I’m quite certain,” he went on though he didn’t hear her. 

She eyed him. For that matter, why did _he_ wear clothes? 

But he turned on his heel and left the room, and she sighed as she went to the wardrobe. It appeared she had no choice. Perhaps if she humored him, he’d let her go quicker... 

There were a number of small dresses inside the doll’s wardrobe, but it was the little purple dress that she liked best and she awkwardly put it on herself. It seemed to have been altered to fit her, true to his word. It was short enough, also, that she could still walk on all fours. Still, she felt ridiculous in the thing. 

“Erik?” she called out. “I’m dressed now. Where did you go? I don’t know my way around your house...”

“ _Our_ house, Christine,” he said warmly, suddenly appearing at her side. 

She flinched, and he cringed away. 

“R-right this way...” he said, cursing himself for frightening her. 

He ushered her into a little dining room, where he motioned for her to sit at the table. She sat awkwardly upon the chair, not certain what to do next. 

“Stay right there, don’t go anywhere,” he waved his hands at her as he went into the kitchen. 

She was left alone for a moment, then returned with a small silver platter upon which a single chicken wing rested. It was the same size as her, and the sight of it almost overwhelmed her, but it did smell appetizing. 

“ _And_ this is for you as well!” 

He produced a dark red rose from just around the corner and placed it next to her. It was bigger than her, and certainly was overwhelming. It overwhelmed the very room, it seemed. 

“Oh!” she said. “It’s, ah... oh.”

He settled himself across from her at the table, crossing his paws and resting the doll head on them as he stared at her with great interest - or at least what appeared to be great interest. She couldn’t see his eyes though the holes where the doll’s eyes used to be, except for an occasional glow when he turned just right. The painted face was vacant and ominous, with black empty eye sockets and long silk hair. She didn’t like being looked at by him. 

“Er, are you going to have some too?”

Surely this giant feast was to share, after all. 

“No, no, my dear!” he chuckled. “It is all for you!”

She fidgeted. She had hoped he’d take the doll head off and she could finally see him. 

She ate her chicken, feeling self conscious, aware of every last little movement of hers as Erik stared and stared. She shifted this way and that, uncomfortable in the dress. Finally she reached a hand to her back and scratched at the little buttons there. 

“Are you okay?” Erik asked, nervous. 

“The seams itch me,” she said, giving him a reproachful look. “I’ve never worn a dress before.”

“Ah, I am sorry, my dear,” and he really did sound sorry. “But you will get used to it!”

“What if I don’t want to get used to it?” she wrinkled her nose. “Mice don’t typically wear clothes... and neither do rats... It’s all very different from I’m used to.”

“You and Erik are the same, my dear. We are... _different_ , as you say. Not like the others,” he tugged at his sleeves, looking down almost shyly. “I know you are a little frightened right now, but that is okay. You will see, eventually! Erik means no harm, and fear can turn to love, you know. And eventually, after you stay with Erik for a little while and then he takes you back upstairs... perhaps... perhaps you will come to visit your poor Erik, every so often?”

He looked up, the light catching in his terrible eyes underneath of his strange mask, his voice full of pitiful hope. 

“Erik has so very few visitors, and he loves Christine, did you know that? But he shan’t bring it up if she doesn’t wish it!” he rushed to add. “We shall get along splendidly, though, and devote our time to music. Erik and Christine are just alike, they both love music. They don’t need anyone else but each other!”

She looked down at her plate, frowning. They _had_ gotten along quite well when he was an angel, and she supposed that might continue even still, but she didn’t like how she felt about the whole situation. He said he loved her, yet he had kidnapped her, had he not? 

“Is that why you brought me here? Because you love me? Have you made me a prisoner because of love?” 

“I am taking you back eventually, Christine, you are no prisoner. I said that already. You must pay better attention, silly child!” he chuckled then sighed deeply. “I brought you here because I realized it was not safe for you out there, not right now. That man almost kidnapped you, I saw it!”

She glared across at him. 

“That was Raoul! He would never harm me!”

“And you were just in the middle of the hallway, where anyone could have stepped on you!” he continued, outwardly ignoring her but inwardly making note of the name of his apparent rival. “The rat catcher could have come across you, or Carlotta might have found you and finished what she tried to do you on stage! So I brought you here to keep you in safety for just a little while. Tell me, how is your poor hand?”

She stretched out her bandaged paw. 

“It feels better,” she said truthfully. “Did you wrap it?”

“Of course! Erik must watch out for his Christine, and make certain of her comfort, after all.”

“Thank you...”

Perhaps he did care for her, in a rather unorthodox way. 

She looked up suddenly. 

“If I am to stay a while, won’t please take off your, er, mask?”

“No, never,” he said calmly. 

Her little brow furrowed. 

“Not ever? Why not?”

“Do not ask questions!” he snapped, bringing his tiny gloved fists down on the table and frightening her. 

Just as suddenly as he had snapped at her, his demeanor turned sweet again. 

“How is Christine enjoying her dinner?”

“Just fine,” she picked at it. In truth, she was no longer hungry, and she wished to remove the awful dress and just go home to Raoul. Or, if she was to stay with her former angel, she wished he would introduce himself normally, let her see his face, and perhaps they could talk about music. Neither option seemed feasible. 

In truth she would have loved to get to know her angel better! Why couldn’t he just behave normally? Then they could have a real conversation. 

“Have you lived here very long?” she asked politely. 

“Yes, quite long,” he nodded, then fell silent again. 

“Will I sing again, do you think? On stage?” she tried at last, growing weary of the silence - music always got him talking in the past. 

“Of course you will! It wasn’t your fault Carlotta was so hateful... We will find a way to resolve the problem of her, my dear, don’t you worry yourself about it in the least but yes! Lovely Christine shall sing on stage again, and it will be even more glorious than it was tonight!”

She wrapped a thin ribbon that hung off the sleeve of her dress around her paw, fiddling with it shyly. 

“You thought I did gloriously?”

“You did,” he said sweetly. “You were magnificent! The best singer!”

Her face felt warm, and she smiled. He might only be a rat and not an angel, but she found his compliments made her tiny heart flutter all the same. 

“Thank you, Erik,” she looked up and smiled at him. 

His breath stuttered. She had said his name so kindly, so lovingly! She had looked right at him! He could barely stand it, the joy was too great. 

She asked him if they could still continue her lessons, which he readily agreed to, and they spoke some time longer on the subject of music and singing. For a while she felt completely at ease with him, as though there situation was the most natural thing on the world. 

“Erik,” she said presently, preparing to offer her heart up to him. “I- I don’t mind that you’re a- well, a rat. You don’t have to hide from me... I wish you hadn’t hid from the very beginning. I know mice and rats don’t get along often, but I think we could be friends, don’t you? We could be friends even still. Please, don’t hide from me! I don’t mind the truth!”

Erik was very still and very quiet. 

“No, no,” he finally said, his tone deadly serious. “Christine you must never ask that of me. You don’t understand at all. Come, let’s not speak of it again.”

He changed the subject suddenly, and she felt a little resentful. 

He was being silly! She knew rats weren’t the most handsome thing to look at, with their long snouts and big teeth. But they weren’t that bad! He didn’t need to hide like this! And besides - she wanted to know what her angel looked like! She had put the dress on for him, hadn’t she? It was only fair that he remove his mask for her. 

She nodded along to his conversation, asking questions now and then to keep him talking, lulling him into a sense of security. She got up off her chair and asked about the little odds and ends that decorated the house, stopping to sniff at the enormous rose. She carefully made her way to stand next to him, all without him suspecting anything, and then finally ended up behind him. He kept telling her the history of the item she had inquired about, trying to twist in his chair to face her but not quite making it. 

It was then that she struck. 

She had expected, of course, that he was merely shy, not wanting her to see that he was a rat, embarrassed to admit what he actually was. She had thought that she’d pull the doll’s head off of his head and then she’d smile at him and he’d realize how silly he was being over it all, that they’d laugh about it and talk a little longer and he’d take her back to Raoul later and then she’d come visit her newfound friend when she came to the opera in the future. 

It was with that in mind that she slyly snuck up to him as he twisted in his chair, and, standing on the very tips of her hind paw toes, yanked the doll head away - they would _laugh_! - they would _smile_! - they would-

She screamed before she could stop herself. 

He was indeed a rat, but not one like she’d ever seen before. He had no fur on his face except for a few sparse black whiskers, and his skin wrinkled horribly as his expressions changed, bunching and crinkling this way and that. His eyes were not shiny black like other rats she’d seen, but an awful dark blood red. 

She was horrified, and for a moment she felt that time had stopped as she stared at him - how could such a creature exist?

His own eyes widened in horror and he hissed through his teeth at her. 

“Damn you!” he banged his fists on the table. “Damn you and your insatiable curiosity!”

He stood up and knocked his chair over with a sickening bang. She darted underneath of the table for safety, trembling with fear, flinching at the loud noises he was causing as he began to wipe his hands across the little shelves on the wall, causing all the brick-a-brack there to fall to floor and clatter. 

“You little lying _Delilah_! You prying _Pandora_!”

She didn’t even know what some of those words meant, but she didn’t like being called them all the same. This wasn’t the kind angel she had thought she’d known! 

Slowly his anger began to dissolve into tears. He fell to his knees, weeping. 

“You would have come back, if you hadn’t known! You would have stayed with poor Erik if you’d never seen his accursed ugliness! Oh, you’ve cursed us both! All his life, everyone runs away from Erik when they see his face! Erik has ruined everything yet again!”

Christine stopped trembling. Could it be...? That he wasn’t mad at her, not very much, but... he was mad at himself? She snuck her fer face out from under the table, looking at him with pity. Did he not understand that his face had only startled her for a moment? Did he not realize it was his anger that actually frightened her? His back was to her, and he didn’t see how her expression had softened. His face was rather awful, but she could get used to it - it had only been so very unexpected! She would still come back! But only if he promised not to frighten her with his anger ever again. She didn’t mind his face, not really... She was about to tell him so when suddenly he rounded on her and pointed an accusing finger. 

“Now that Christine has seen him, she can never be free! Erik will keep her here forever! She will never leave, ever!”

Now Christine was mad. How dare he! 

“What do you mean by that, Erik?” she demanded. 

“You are never leaving this house again! I won’t allow it!”

“Allow? Why, I never!” she bit the dress off of herself, needing it off so that she would be able to run faster. “You’re not in of control of me! I’m mistress of my own actions, thank you very much! I go where I want when I want!”

She threw the dress at him and ran in the other direction as fast as she could. He stared, shocked, as she ran out of the room, then he began to chase her. 

“Christine! Get back here this instant!” he bellowed, but she had already made it to the front door and out of the house. 

“Christine! I mean it! Stop!”

She shimmied down the leg of the table, onto the floor, and raced for the door at the end of the room, intent on getting away. 

Erik’s anger wavered and was replaced by a cold wave of fear. If she left this room- she didn’t know where the rat catcher’s traps lay- it was terribly unsafe out there- she would be in danger! And still she ran from him! His fault, his fault! 

“Christine, wait!” he cried desperately. “Don’t go out there-!”

But Christine only thought he was still trying to trap her in the dollhouse, so she slipped out under the door and escaped into the hallway.


	4. Chapter 4

Christine could hear Erik following her, but she didn’t slow down. She had a head start, but Erik was bigger than her and she was certain he’d catch up to her in no time. 

“Christine please!”

He was getting closer, and she was panicking. She saw another room, this one with the door ajar. She turned for it and ran through the door. 

“ _Not in there!_ ” he yelled. 

She could smell food in the room somewhere, but didn’t know why - it looked like another old storage room, this one with old costumes. 

“Christine get out of this room this instant!”

She dove deeper into the room, heading for the very back of it. 

Erik stumbled a little, watching in despair as she ran. 

“Christine! Please don’t!”

At the very back of the room, there was a small closet. She had only a second to glance at the sign posted on it with the writing in big red letters - but Christine couldn’t read, so she didn’t see the warning not to enter. 

This closet door was also ajar, and she ran right in. 

Erik wailed loudly as he saw her go it. He knew what was behind the door, knew what terrible fate awaited her behind that door. 

“No, no!” he rushed after her. 

He was scared out of his wits, his anxiety making his feet unsteady and his head spin. He intended only to run to the very edge and pull her out, but at the last second, his footing slipped and the momentum kept carrying him forward. 

He fell into the water basin with a splash. 

Christine hadn’t known that just a tiny bit into the closet the floor receded deeply, a trap set by the rat catcher. The recession was fitted with a deep basin of water, far too deep to climb out of. 

But Christine was very small, not like the rats who populated the opera house, and she had been able to stop just in time before falling in, clinging to the baseboard of the floor inside the little closet, just around the edge of door where Erik hadn’t been able to see. 

She shook out her fur, trying to get the water droplets out that had splattered on her from Erik’s fall. She stared down a moment, but she realized there was no way Erik could get out - she was safe from him. 

She tried to get her shaking nerves under control, to calm her heart which was beating in her throat. Her brow furrowed as she studied the room, realizing what it was. What a terrible room! A torture chamber! There was a piece of food hanging high up over the water, no doubt to lure poor unsuspecting creatures to their watery graves. 

Erik’s relief at seeing Christine hadn’t fallen in was short lived. He could see no way out of the water - the edges of the basin were too steep to climb. 

He swam around and around in circles, trying to figure out what to do. How could he get out? There was no way. 

He gnashed his little teeth. Was he not the smartest rat in the entire opera house? And yet even still he couldn’t save himself from this! 

He kicked his shoes off, untied the ribbon of his cape, anything to help him swim for longer. But what was the point? There was no escape from this. It was all over now. 

Christine turned and fled the closet, the room too terrible to stay in. She was finally free of Erik. He couldn’t get out, couldn’t force her to stay in his house, couldn’t hurt her. She’d never have to worry about him again. 

She stopped in her tracks, suddenly overcome with too many emotions she couldn’t even name. 

He couldn’t get out. 

She turned back to look at the closet. 

After hesitating a moment, she crept back to the closet and peeked down into the basin. 

Erik was swimming in circles, his big red eyes blinking fast, looking this way and that. Was he crying? His circles began to falter a little. He couldn’t swim forever, and when he finally stopped- 

A tear ran down Christine’s cheek. 

He had lied to her and kidnapped her and threatened her. A few moments ago she would have considered anything that could have stoped him from chasing her as heaven-sent. She would be within her rights to walk away. No one would fault her for that. She could turn and leave and find Raoul and go home and put this all behind her. Except- 

He was her angel. Maybe not anymore, but she had loved him at one point. Could she really just let him die? 

But she knew that if she helped him out of the trap, she would be his prisoner forevermore. He’d never let her leave, he’d said so himself. 

She warred with herself over what to do. Then, finally, with a trembling chin, she made up her mind. 

She turned and left the closet. 

Erik struggled to keep his head above the water. His eyes were stinging, his lungs were burning, his legs were going numb, water kept going in his mouth. He had no hope left. Christine hated him, and he was going to die. 

His eyes slid closed, his little paws slowing down. 

All of a sudden something else splashed into the water - a long, thin piece of wood with a number of ribbons tied to one end, the former magic wand of a fairy princess. 

It was just long enough to reach the bottom on the basin and to also rest on the edge of the top of he basin. 

Erik summoned the last of his strength to swim to it and climb up it, dragging himself up out of the basin and into the doorway of the closet. 

Just beyond the doorway stood Christine, looking at him with sadness and compassion. 

It took his mind a few moments to process it all. It made no sense, but there was no other possible explanation - _Christine had saved his life_. 

He began to weep into his paws. 

“Oh, _Christine_...”

She knew if she had just left she would never be free of the terrible knowledge of what had happened here when she did, never be able to close her eyes without seeing the image of him with that pitiful look in his red eyes as he swam in smaller and smaller circles until he slipped under the water. She knew she would wake at night and hear the whisper of his song on the breeze and she would always be chilled by that. He was frightening and rude and ugly, but he had also been her teacher, her friend. And now - her captor, it would seem. Would he take her back to the house and keep her prisoner? She thought it likely. She’d never see Raoul or Philippe again, never sing on a stage again, never feel the sunlight on her fur or the breeze in her whiskers. She could have been free of Erik and returned to her lovely life, but she had made the choice to stay. And maybe that was the wrong choice, but it was her choice and she had made it. 

“Christine, no one has shown Erik such kindness... no one has shown him _any_ kindness in his whole life- and then- and then Christine saves his life... Even after she has seen his horrible face! What mercy! What wondrous kindness! Oh!”

His weeping words brought Christine to tears. Had no one ever been nice to him? Not even once? And all because of how he looked?

She closed the short distance between them, reaching her paws out to place on either side of his strange cheeks. She lightly pressed her forehead against his own. 

“Poor, unhappy Erik,” she murmured through her own tears. 

He reached his hands up to place them on top of hers. 

Her tears ran down his horrible, hairless face and mingled with his tears, which dripped down his whiskers and pooled on the floor, joining the water that puddled off of him from the trap basin. 

How long had he been alone? His whole life maybe? She couldn’t imagine a life so lonely, with no human to give him food and shelter, no friends of his own kind to talk to. No wonder he was a little crazy, no wonder he didn’t know how to act. She didn’t think that made it okay, but it did help her understand why he was the way he was. 

She had been so frightened that she wouldn’t be able to find anything to fish him out of the trap with, terrified that she would be too late to help him or that whatever she found would be too heavy for her to carry back to the closet. He was cruel to try and keep her in his house, but he didn’t deserve to drown, at least she didn’t think so. 

“Christine, you came back for me... I will take you back to your boy, my dear, right now if you wish it,” he cried. 

She pulled back, surprised. 

“Do you mean it, Erik?”

He nodded. 

“You are free. I swear it. You can go back to Raoul any time you wish,” his heart felt like it was shattering into a million pieces (she would never come visit him again! Not after how he treated her!) but he knew it was the right thing to do. 

It took her a moment to fully comprehend that she was truly free to return to Raoul, but once she understood that he was serious, her face lit up. 

He was about to beg her forgiveness for ever saying otherwise but before he had a chance to do so, she leaned over and kissed his cheek.


	5. Chapter 5

Christine stared up at Raoul as he finished getting ready for the night at the opera. He had just finished tying his ascot, and she knew from habit he was about to brush his hair next. 

She scurried over to the hairbrush and climbed onto the soft bristles. He noticed her there and picked her up with his thumb and one finger, depositing her in the middle of his dressing table and smiling down at her, amused by her antics. She loved to see him smile. He ran the brush through his hair as she watched, then straightened his jacket. 

“There,” he said. “All ready.”

Her little heart beat faster. He had never forgotten to take her with him in the past, but even still in the back of her mind she worried that one day he might. 

But not today - he held his hand out for her, and she climbed onto it. He put her safely into the breast pocket of his jacket and went to join Philippe in the waiting carriage. 

Halfway through the carriage ride, during a lull in the conversation, she stuck her face out of the pocket. Philippe happened to glance over and noticed. She squeaked at him, and he narrowed his eyes at her, but that was okay. That was just how Philippe smiled, she thought. Philippe looked away and said nothing. 

She looked out at the big world going by the window, marveling at what she saw there. She thought about how lucky she was to be in the care of people who loved opera and ballet so much that they never missed a performance. It had been a month since her ordeal in the dollhouse, and just like she had been ever since she had worked out an agreement with Erik, she was looking forward to her time spent at the Populaire. 

Erik stared down at the crowds of people making their way into the opera house for the show tonight. There was one person is particular he was hoping to see. From his position where he was sitting on the chandelier, he had a good view of everyone who was coming in. In the effort to better spot the boy who would be escorting her here, he had forgone his mask altogether so that he might have a wider range of vision. She never seemed to mind, anyway. 

At last he saw them enter. His ears perked up and he climbed up the chandelier chain to the hole in the ceiling, running fast down the secret tunnels he used, knowing he would be there on time, but worrying about being late even still. He had spent his time counting down the moments until he would see her again ever since she had left a few days ago. 

Once inside the opera house, Christine climbed out of Raoul’s pocket and up onto his shoulder. She kept a sharp eye out for the hallway she was supposed to meet Erik in. 

As they came closer to it, she stood up on her hind legs and whistled. Raoul was expecting this - she had done the same thing each time they’d pass this hallway, and just like before he turned and went down the hall. He reached up to let her climb into his hand, and just like every time before, he lowered his hand to ground and she jumped off. 

His brow furrowed a little. He didn’t know where she went or why she wanted to go down this hall all by herself, but he knew from experience she wouldn’t give him a moment’s peace until he let her go - she had put up quite a fuss the very first time he’d walked on past the hallway, whistling through her teeth and squealing and reaching her little paws towards it. He had taken her down the hall, puzzled, only to grow more baffled as she tried to get down, and then frightened as she ran from him. She had darted away so quickly that he couldn’t catch her, and he had forlornly visited that hallway again after the performance, but she hadn’t been there. He had come back to hallway before leaving after the next performance several days later, and to his utter shock Christine had been there, waiting for him. 

It had become a habit for them now - he’d take her to the hallway and let her go before the show started, and she would stay at the Populaire until he came back to watch the following performance days later, when he would then take her back to the de Chagny mansion until the cycle would repeat again. 

“And you’ll come back to me, won’t you?” he asked softly as she scampered away. She had always come back to him so far, but still, he worried. 

She paused when she heard his words, turning back and approaching him. His hand was still stretched out to her, and when she was close enough to do so, she stood up and kissed one of his fingers before running off, going behind a pedestal. He quickly stood and went to look behind it, but discovered only a small hole in the wall and no sign of Christine. He ran a hand through his hair. 

“See you in a few days, then, I suppose.”

There was a spring in her step as she traveled inside the walls to get to her dressing room and meet her Angel once more - besides the joy of seeing Erik again, there was something else that made tonight a special occasion, too. 

Raoul settled into his seat next to his brother, who glance at him and frowned. 

“What’s got you looking so forlorn?” he whispered to him, but Raoul only shrugged in response because he knew Philippe wouldn’t understand. 

Philippe raised an eyebrow. Perhaps it was about a chorus girl or some other young lady who would be performing tonight. His little brother had the look of unrequited love, that much was certain. 

“Christine,” breathed Erik, surprised as always that she had returned to him. 

She beamed up at him when she found him in her dressing room. 

“Are you ready, my dear?”

“Of course, Angel!”

“And no Carlotta to step on you tonight,” he chuckled, and stretched out a gloved paw to her. 

She put her little hand in his, and let him lead her deep inside the walls to one of the lower cellars. 

Her debut on a different stage was about to begin. 

She wasn’t entirely certain about the dress Erik had gifted her, but she trusted his judgment, and even if she wasn’t sold on the idea of why she should wear one to begin with, she did have to admit it was a beautiful dress, a fluffy skirt sparkling with little crystals and puffy sleeves that hung down around her shoulders. 

Once dressed, she climbed up on top of the old barrel, waiting for Erik to finish lighting the candles that illuminated where she stood. He moved so stealthily that he only appeared as a shadow that left little flames in its wake. She looked out to her audience, a slowly growing crowd of about three dozen rats who also lived in the opera house, and a small handful of mice in one of the corners. She smiled at them all. At last Erik began to hum, and that was her cue to begin singing. 

Erik regretted that it had to be this way, that she couldn’t sing up on the stage with all of the humans, but maybe that was for the best. Maybe the world simply wasn’t ready for such talent, such perfection! Let everyone down here get a glimpse of the majestic star he knew she was going to be, and then when the legend of her had spread, _then_ maybe that pitiful excuse Carlotta would be fired so that Christine could take her place. Erik saw absolutely no reason why this shouldn’t work. None. 

He hid in the shadow, humming an ethereal tune as she sang so beautifully, and the wonder of her nearly made his throat close up. 

The other rats and mice marveled at her, unused to hearing something so lovely. When she finished her first song they all stamped their feet to clap for her and squeaked and peeped, overjoyed to have witnessed her song. She did a curtesy and began to sing another one, and then another one, and went on to sing five more that evening. 

At last she threw her arms up, her cadenza lingering in the air all around them, and all the candles went out in a mysterious puff. The rats and mice stared, mystified, and the next thing they knew there was an ominous, yet proud, Voice echoing from every direction. 

“ _Christine Daaé, prima donna of the Opera Populaire, will be performing tomorrow evening at this same time and place. Please tell your families and acquaintances and come enjoy the performance!_ ”

A loud cheer went up from the crowd as they clamored for more of the beautiful tiny singer, but she had already left. 

She could still hear them, of course, basking in the glow of their applause as she lingered there in the secret tunnel with Erik. She put her hands up to her face, beyond pleased with how the evening had gone. 

“Oh, Erik!” she sighed. “It was a dream come true!”

“You were magnificent, my dear,” he said adoringly. 

“I couldn’t have hoped for a better performance!” 

Erik looked down at his shoes. She deserved a grand stage, far better than a barrel. She deserved the very Populaire itself! 

“Christine was... happy, with her stage?”

“Oh yes!” she nodded eagerly. “Very happy.”

The barrel hadn’t been the grand stage of the Populaire, but she was a very small mouse and the barrel was still very big to her. 

Erik fiddled with his tail, too shy to meet her eye. 

“And Christine is happy with- with her Erik, too?”

“Yes, very, very happy!” she smiled warmly. “Are we going to go home now?”

Home! How his heart soared to hear that word from her sweet mouth! 

He could only nod, his heart fluttering too much to form any words. Her trust was such a precious thing, her continued presence in his life a blessing beyond his wildest imagination. He worked hard to earn it, and he would gladly continue to do so. 

The rest of their evening was spent quietly, domestically. Inside of his - their - dollhouse, they drank tea and ate a cookie and discussed the plans for the following night’s performance. 

The show on the main stage was long since over, and Philippe had spent over an hour in deep conversation with Sorelli, while Raoul had chatted lightly but not seriously with Meg. At last they had to leave, and as they departed, Raoul spared one last glance to the large building that somewhere inside held his little Christine. He would look for her when he came back, and he was certain he would find her. He sighed a little and silently wished her a pleasant evening. 

It was pleasant indeed. Their tea and talk finished, he had kissed her on the forehead before she had gone to her bedroom and curled up in the soft doll bed he had prepared for her. Outside of the house, he played a gentle melody on the piano for her, the notes drifting in to her room and lulling her sweetly to sleep, a smile on her face and dreams of herself singing on the stage again forming in her mind.


End file.
